The Moondrop Saga
by angelwings3
Summary: *Chapter Three online!* Ryan has decided to take over the farm...no problems, right? Riiiiight...R & R plz
1. Prologue

The Moondrop Saga  
  
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Disclaimer: *Sigh* These are SO stupid. I don't own Harvest Moon; rich people do. However, I DO own this fanfic.  
  
It's my first fanfic, so please be gentle on the flames. But it's not like flamers ever do listen to these, do they?  
  
Anyway, for the sake of this story, I've changed a few things. For instance, in this chapter, you'll find that there is an inn in Flowerbud Village. I've played HM64 and know there is no inn. Just play along, okay? ^_^ Reviews and friendly criticism will be appreciated!  
  
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Prologue  
  
Grandpa was dying. I knew it...everyone did. He's been sick for nearly a year now, with some disease that no one, not even the most skilled doctors, seemed to know how to cure. "It's untreatable," most of them said, after giving Grandpa an examination. They didn't know what to do about the situation, which was a dilemma similar to the one my family and I had: We didn't know anything except for the fact that Grandpa was dying...and that there was nothing we could do about it.  
  
Those were exactly my thoughts as I marched up the dusty path that led to my grandfather's farm, the Moondrop Ranch. Back when I was a kid, I would often visit Grandpa there during the Summer. It used to be famous for its gardens of beautiful Moondrop flowers, but that was back in the old days. Now, the only things that were left on the ranch's long-neglected fields were rocks, weeds and stumps, all of which had taken over after Grandpa became too weak to tend to his farm chores.  
  
The farm was located on the outskirts of Flowerbud Village, a tiny--and I mean, tiny--town that only had a population of about fifty people. Nonetheless, they had an inn, and that was where I've been staying for the past three nights, ever since my father and I arrived at the village. (Grandpa had requested our presence.) Dad, who is old, gray and a bit overprotective, to say the least, forced me to while he watched over Grandpa at the farm. I don't know why--it's not like I'm a little kid any more. I'm eighteen, a man and old enough to take care of my own kin! I want to see my grandfather before he dies, goddamn it! Yet, Dad still won't relent, being the bastard that he is. He lets me visit the farm for a short while during the day, though, so that was where I was headed to at the moment. After all, I'm pretty sure that Grandpa isn't going to be around for much longer.  
  
I guess it would've been a nice walk, as the weather was gorgeous. It was the last day of Winter, but the temperature was warm and balmy. Little areas of green could be seen between patches of melting snow, and the bright sun and blue sky overhead would make any normal person giddy. But then again, I wasn't normal. My grandfather was dying...  
  
And I couldn't do anything about it.  
  
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I know, I know, it was short. But this is only the prologue! Stay tuned for Chapter 1, coming in a day or two!  
  
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	2. Chapter One: Gone

The Moondrop Saga  
  
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Hiya! Here's Chapter One. Hope you like it! *Crosses fingers*  
  
Oh, and thanks to everyone who reviewed!  
  
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Chapter One: Gone  
  
Bark! Bark!  
  
I pushed open the gate to the farm and was immediately greeted by Bark, Grandpa's old dog. With what felt like a great deal strength, he knocked me to the ground and started licking my face. Gross, I know.  
  
"Augh! Stop that, Bark!" I cried, pushing him off my chest. The dog whimpered and sat down in front of me, his tail between his legs and his head bowed, as if something was bothering him. Knowing what it probably was, I reached out and stroked its coarse, chocolate-brown fur.  
  
"I know...you're worried Grandpa, aren't you?" I asked. Bark barked loudly, as if in agreement, and I smiled and got to my feet. "Well, I'm worried about him too, so you're not alone, ol' fella!" There was a small twig nearby; I picked it up and threw it across the field. Bark bolted after it, winding his way through the maze of boulders and stumps that littered the farmland. Soon though, he started chasing after a butterfly instead, jumping up and down and trying to catch it somehow. I watched him play for a while before making my way towards the rickety wooden cabin where Grandpa lived.  
  
***  
  
Dad was inside, putting a cold compress on Grandpa's forehead. "He's getting worse," he said grimly as I walked in. "Ryan, you're your ass over here and help me, dammit! Soak some rags in that basin over there!" He pointed to a small wooden basin standing beside him.  
  
Without hesitation, I did as I was told. It was no use talking back to Dad, and it wasn't worth it, either. He's one of those people who, if you fight them, will just end up tiring you out, both mentally and physically.  
  
"Here," I muttered, handing him the rags. "Anything else, Dad?"  
  
"Yes...don't talk to me in that tone. It's chockfull of sarcasm, you know. What, do you think I'm stupid?" He took the rags from me and wiped the blood off a deep cut on Grandpa's arm. I stared at it curiously.  
  
"Wha--how did he get that cut?" I asked. "He hasn't done any farm work for months now."  
  
"That may be true, but that doesn't mean he didn't try," Dad replied, throwing the rags, now red and bloody, back to me. "When I woke up this morning, I saw him out of bed, trying to work with his sickle. Tried to pry it out of his arms, but he wouldn't let me. It wasn't until after he cut his arm with the damn tool that he made me take him back to bed." He shrugged and shook his head. "Stupid old git...If he wasn't your mother's father, I wouldn't even bother taking care of him."  
  
"That's not a nice thing to say about your father-in-law," I said, soaking the rags in the basin. "Especially when he's lying right next to you."  
  
Dad snorted. "Yeah, so? He's asleep."  
  
I glanced over at the bed, and indeed, Grandpa was sleeping. Lying still and tranquil, the only noise that came from him was the raspy hum of his rhythmic breathing.  
  
"Still...it's called respect, you know," I muttered, dropping the rags on the floor and looking around for something to dry my hands with. There was a small towel on a stand next to me--a dirty towel, but a towel nonetheless. I grabbed the cloth and pulled it out from underneath an old ceramic bowl, which, to my shock, teetered... tottered...and then came crashing down onto the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.  
  
"Oops...." I smiled sheepishly at Dad, who looked as if he were about to murder me. Luckily enough, at that moment, Grandpa stirred in his sleep. His eyes fluttered open, and his tired, ashen face lit up the minute he caught sight of me.  
  
"R-Ryan," he mumbled weakly. "I'm glad to see you, ol' boy." Without even acknowledging my father's presence (nor the shattered remains of the bowl), he motioned for me to come over. "Come here. I have something to talk to you about." I dropped the towel into the basin and went over, sitting down next to him on his bed.  
  
"Yeah, Grandpa? What is it?" I asked, reminiscent of how he used to tell me bedtime stories during my visits to his farm. Every evening, he would tuck me into bed, then sit down next to me on the mattress and tell me a fairy tale, or, more often, an anecdote about farm life. I remember there was this one story I really liked, about how he and Grandma met and got married. It was mushy and all, but I liked it anyway. Maybe it was because there was so much action it, as well as romance, like the part where some knife-wielding suitor of Grandma was chasing him...  
  
Anyway, that was what I was thinking about: Grandpa's bedtime stories. I mean, it was almost the same situation, except now Grandpa was in bed and I was the one sitting next to him.  
  
Grandpa lifted one thin, wrinkled hand and ruffled my hair. "Hm...You look s-strong," he said, amid strident coughs. "Strong enough to handle my tools, that is." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad roll his eyes.  
  
"You're also quite handsome, just like I was when I was your age," Grandpa continued, chuckling. "There are quite a few pretty girls around here, you know, Ryan." I stared at him, puzzled. What was he getting to?  
  
"Maybe...just maybe..." Grandpa turned to my father, who was leaning against the door, boredom etched on his face. "James, I request that you please leave the house. Just for a little while. I need to talk to your son about some important matters." But Dad only shook his head and gave him a nasty grin.  
  
"What `matters' are so important to the boy that his own father can't hear them?" he said. "I have a right to listen to your conversation."  
  
"James, just do what I tell you and just get out of my house!" Grandpa barked. Dad shrugged and stepped outside. "Whatever you say, old man," he muttered as he slammed the door behind him, rattling the walls. Sighing, I turned to Grandpa apologetically.  
  
"I'm sorry. He's been like this ever since Mom died...that was five years ago," I said, shaking my head sadly. "I mean he wasn't so stubborn and mean-spirited before. Believe it or not, he was actually nice." I fingered the hem of one of the bed sheets. "You understand, don't you, Grandpa?"  
  
Grandpa nodded, and a wry smile curved at his face. "It is all right, Ryan," he said. "I understand. And don't blame your father for his actions. The death of a loved one can change one's life...one's feelings...even one's personality. I think in the case of your father, it was all three." He sighed and, closing his eyes, he continued in a voice filled with experience and remorse: "I, too, was grief-stricken when your mother died. Julia was my daughter, after all, and her death came only a few months after your grandmother's. Thus, in one year, I had lost two of the people I loved most. For a very long time, I didn't have the will to do anything, not even my farm work. The crops wilted and expired, while the animals died off, one by one. The farm fell to shambles due to my negligence but I did not do anything to rejuvenate it." He paused to catch his breath, during which I reflected on the story, a tale that was all new to me. I felt horrible; why hadn't I known this before?  
If I had, then I would've done something--anything--to help!  
  
"Grandpa," I asked, "Why didn't you ever tell me this before?" Grandpa laughed.  
  
"I don't know," he replied, "I guess I was ashamed of myself for being so lazy. I didn't want you or your father to know about all this. I was afraid that you would lose your respect for me, and as for your father, he would've just laughed and mocked me. But," he said, as I had my mouth opened, ready to ask another question, "I did restore the farm eventually. It was quite interesting. One day, I was wandering around the fields when I saw that the patch Moondrop flowers your grandmother had loved so dearly had all wilted. At first, I thought nothing of it. After all, they were only flowers, and all flowers die someday, right? But then I wondered how your grandmother would have felt if she saw all those dead flowers. She would've been sad...horrified, in fact. She would've cried, something I hate to see even in my memories. So, I decided to get the farm back in order and to quit being so depressed." Grandpa sighed, and shook his head sadly. "I have to say, I did do a good job  
with restoring the farm, but ever since I fell ill...." He shakily raised one hand and pointed out the window. "...The farm has fallen apart. Again."  
  
"Oh..." I couldn't think of anything else to say. There was a moment of silence as the two of us just sat there; I, lost in thought over this newfound family history, and Grandpa...well, I guess he was thinking about Mom and Grandma...you know, the "good old days," or whatever you want to call them. All those happy memories must've been too much for him to bear, for a few minutes later, he erupted in a string of raucous coughing and wheezing. It killed me to hear him suffer like that.  
  
"Whoa, are you okay?" I asked. "Want me to get you a glass of water or something?" Grandpa shook his head, his body shaking violently, as if he was having some sort of seizure or something. Then a thought struck me: What if he was having a seizure?  
  
"DAD!" I screeched, running to the window. "Dad! It's Grandpa...there's--there's something wrong with him!" No answer. Apparently, he wasn't there. Way to go, Dad.  
  
"Aw...shit." I ran back to Grandpa, who was now trembling worse than ever. "Grandpa...hold on! I'm going to go into town and get Dad, okay? Just stay here and...hold on!" I had my hand on the door latch and was about to make my leave, but Grandpa caught me by the arm.  
  
"No...Ryan...don't go. It's pointless...to. I...I think my...day of reck...reckoning has...arrived," he choked. "It--It's a good thing...I...I told y-you that...s-story, e-eh? I-I knew my time...would c-come soon. T-That's why...I...ur...urged you and...y-your f-f-father to c-come...visit me. I...I wanted you t-two to b-be here...Actually...I-I wanted...y-you to be h-h-here, R-Ryan." He gasped for breath, clutching his chest with one hand and holding my arm tightly with the other. It was sad, seeing him suffer like that; yet, for some reason, I didn't feel like screaming or begging for him to stay. I guess, deep down inside, I knew it was inevitable. Grandpa was going to die, just like the Moondrop flowers on his farm.  
  
"Grandpa..." I murmured. "I--"  
  
"No, R-Ryan," he cut in, pulling me closer to him. "I...can...hard...hardly...talk. For...get good...byes. J-Just pay attention to what I say...just...t-this one...last...t-time." I nodded, blinking back tears. What else could I have done? If someone you loved was dying right in front of you, wouldn't you stick around to hear his last words?  
  
"Y-you are...my only...grand...grandson. T-This farm...is...your homeland. I have...lived here...all...m-my life. Y-your grand...grand...mother and...I...spent over fifty happy...years together here. I-In fact...y-your mother...Julia...was b-born and...raised...he...here. It-It is only r-right if...if..." He trailed off. I could just feel the life slipping away from him.  
  
"What? What do you want me to do?" I asked frantically, holding on fast to his hand. But he never finished his sentence. Or rather, I never heard him finish. He mumbled something, an incoherent string of nonsense, before falling still and silent, his hand limp in mine. I laid it down on the bed and pulled the sheets over his lifeless body. It was then, standing there all alone in that chamber of death, that I let the tears flow.  
  
Grandpa was gone.  
  
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So, how was it? I was never too good at conveying emotions in writing...-_-. It's one of the many things I need to practice.  
  
BTW, does anyone have an idea of who Ryan's grandmother was? I purposely left her nameless. ^_^  
  
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	3. Chapter Two: Inheritance

The Moondrop Saga  
  
Chapter Two: Inheritance  
  
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AN~ Wow, that took me awhile to write! Sorry for they delay, you guys—how would you like it if you had four tests to study for, two projects to work on, TONS homework to do, and chores! Oh, and I also have a REALLY slow computer, ya know? I go online for about 2 minutes and it cuts me off! ARGH! Damn computer! ::Kicks computer:: Hehe…anyway, at long last, here is chapter two. I hope you enjoy it! Oh, and just to let you know, it usually takes me about 3-6 weeks to write a single chappie! No kidding! So, have patience…and if I haven't posted the third chapter by April, you know I probably just gave up…-_-. Either that, or I took a really long break!  
  
Like I said in previous ANs, I was going to change some things about the village. For one thing, the place you guys all know as the bar is now…and inn! Yes, like in BTN! Except that Duke is the innkeeper. And one last important thing: I don't like Harris! (Just a little warning for the chapters to come hehehe.)  
  
Like always, thanks to everyone who reviewed!  
  
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I cried all the rest of that day. It wasn't until Dad returned to the cabin, late that night, that I even made an effort to stop the tears. But, of course, they wouldn't stop. It's not easy to keep from crying when you're feeling crappy.  
  
"What do you want?" I sobbed as the door creaked open. Dad staggered into the room, swaying back and forth with every step he took. He had obviously gone straight to the bar when Grandpa told him to leave, for his face was as red as a hot coal, and his breath stunk of whisky. I eyed him angrily as his gaze turned from Grandpa's lifeless body to my own tear-streaked face. "Why did you leave?" I wanted to yell at him. "Why? Why did you have to go to that goddamn pub to get yourself drunk? If you had been more dependable and stayed, Grandpa might still be ALIVE, for the love of God!" I wanted to make him feel guilty for being so irresponsible. I wanted him to feel my pain. But the only thing I managed to choke out was, "He's dead."  
  
Dad nodded, his lips curled to reveal a sneering smile. "I know," he said, in a tone filled with glee. "Isn't it great? The old git's finally gone! He's finally gone!" He banged his fist against the wall, laughing like a lunatic. I stared at him in disbelief. How could my father be so cruel? Someone—his father-in-law—had just DIED and all he could do was dance around happily! I wanted to give him a good sock in the face for being such a bastard, but decided against it. Dad was a lot stronger than I was, and it was especially dangerous to pick a fight with him. So I just sat there on the cold wooden floor, reveling in my misery.  
  
***  
  
Word spreads fast in a small town. By lunchtime the next day, everyone in Flowerbud Village and beyond knew of Grandpa's passing, thanks to the big mouth of Harris, the local mailman, who had stopped by the farm early in the morning. (Dad and I spent the night there.) When the poor man heard the news, he nearly fainted in his disbelief, but I managed to catch him by the collar of his postal uniform before he fell.  
  
"B-But it c-c-can't be!" Harris wailed, wiping his big nose with his sleeve. "Y-You're lying! He c-c-can't be dead!" And before I could stop him, he raced off in the direction of the village, leaving a trail of unsent letters in his wake. It wasn't just him, either—most of the other villagers had the same reaction, as I soon found out when a horde of townspeople appeared at my room at the inn, all with the same question: Was Tony (that's Grandpa's name) dead?  
  
"I HEARD FROM HARRIS THAT THE OLD FARMER PASSED AWAY YESTERDAY!" hollered a wild-looking man with a matted beard. He appeared to be the leader of the pack, for the other villagers just crowded around him, nodding. "HE SAID HE HEARD THE NEWS FROM YOU, YOU LITTLE BRAT! IS IT TRUE? HUH? HUH? IS IT TRUE? YOU'D BETTER NOT BE LYING, OR ELSE—" He raised one muscular fist, and I quickly backed away from the door for fear of being pounded into the ground, like a nail at a hammer's mercy.  
  
"Y-Yeah. He's gone," I stammered, looking around me for any sign of Dad. But of course, he wasn't there. Probably gone drinking himself to death again. "He d-died yesterday afternoon, at his farm...His funeral has already been arranged," I continued. I was telling the truth, too. I had gone to the church earlier in the day to set up a date for Grandpa's memorial service. But did the crowd believe my words? Of course not.  
  
"YOU LIAR! I DON'T TRUST YOU!" the man fumed, taking a step forward into the room. The crowd followed suit, raising their fists, spatulas, knives and any other items they chose to use as weapons. I shut my eyes, bracing myself for the pain that was soon to follow. But…surprisingly enough, nothing happened. Warily, I opened one eye, and saw a petite woman with sandy brown hair at the bearded man's side, holding him back by the arm.  
  
"Gotz, husband! I told you to be civil!" she shrieked amidst the racket of the crowd. "Whatever gave you the idea of creating a riot out here? Poor boy—he looks petrified!" With a gentle smile, she extended one slender hand towards me, which I took, thanking her again and again for her benevolence (and timeliness). Gotz, however, wasn't so happy with his wife's interference.  
  
"Who gave you permission to leave the house, Sasha!" he hollered, slapping the woman in the face. Sasha stumbled and fell backwards to the floor, amidst the laughter of the crowd. It was then, watching her suffer at the hands of her own husband, that I did some thing really, REALLY dumb. I walked right up to Gotz…and punched him in the face. I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was the memory of being humiliated by my father in the exact same way when I was a kid—knocked to the floor in front of his friends. Maybe I felt like I could save Sasha from this disgrace. Whatever the reason, I sure hated it later on. Gotz didn't so much as wince when I struck him; he just picked me up by the lapel of my shirt and threw me hard against the wall with ease.  
  
"Stupid boy! What do you think you're doing?" he cried. I remained silent, ignoring the throbbing pain at the back of my head. I had to fight back—I had to, if I wanted to avoid getting beat to a pulp. As it turned out, though, I was once again rescued from the mob's wrath. Thank God for the innkeeper, Duke, who entered the suite just in time to see the tumult.  
  
"Hey, hey! What's going on here?" he cried, pushing his way through the silenced crowd. Apparently, Gotz had a reputation for being a troublemaker, for as soon as Duke laid eyes on him, he at once pointed him out as the culprit. "Don't act all innocent, Gotz!" he fumed, pointing an accusing finger at the said person. "I know you did this! Who else would create such a riot in one's business!"  
  
"Sir, I was just…I mean, this young man here--" Gotz stammered, rubbing the back of his neck in a guilty fashion. Duke sighed disapprovingly.  
  
"I knew I shouldn't have let you and your friends drink so much last night!" he muttered. "Get out of here, now! All of you! And don't come back until you've sobered up!" With one flick of his hand, he dispersed the crowd, Gotz along with them. Duke was known to have quite a temper when provoked.  
  
"Augh…What was that all about?" I moaned, getting to my feet. My head hurt like hell after being thrown into the wall. Duke shrugged.  
  
"I don't know," he said, helping Sasha up to her feet. "Gotz must have had one drink too many last night. He's usually not like this, even if he is drunk." Sasha nodded in agreement.  
  
"Yes. He is not usually like this. He is actually a very loving person, to both our daughter and me…most of the time." A frown crossed her gentle features, just for a little moment, before she continued: "I think Tony's death pushed him over the edge this time. He was a good friend of the family."  
  
"WHAT? You knew my grandfather?" I blurted out, surprised. Grandpa, a good friend of that crazy idiot Gotz? Unbelievable.  
  
"Oh…" Sasha frowned and peered at me closely. "You are Tony's grandson? I knew you were visiting the village…but I didn't know where. Actually," she said half-jokingly, "I didn't know you at all." She extended a hand. "But I do now. I'm Sasha Dionys. May I ask your name, dear?"  
  
"Me? I'm Ryan. Ryan Hayes," I replied, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."  
  
"Nice to meet you, too," Sasha said, a mix of pleasure and sadness manifested on her face. "I'm so very sorry about your loss, Ryan."  
  
"We all are," Duke sighed, running a hand through his gray-streaked hair. "He was a great man, your grandfather." With one large, callused hand, he gave me a pat on the back that knocked me facedown to the ground again. "Heh heh…so, Ryan, you finally decided to ditch the low profile, eh? I had the hardest time keeping my mouth shut. Tony's grandson…what an honor! Your family must have quite a lineage!" Duke had known all along that I was at Flowerbud to visit Grandpa. (He asked me the minute Dad and I checked into the inn. The village doesn't get many tourists, so it was quite a surprise when the inn actually got visitors.) I wasn't about to take his words as a compliment, though. Apparently he didn't realize much of a bastard Dad was.  
  
"Yeah, well…" I said, rubbing the back of my now excruciatingly painful neck as I struggled to get to my feet. "Heh heh… well…I think I should go now. I mean, I have to catch up with my Dad and everything." Actually, this wasn't true. I really had no intention of meeting up with Dad anytime soon, wherever he was. I thought it might be a bit rude, just leaving in a rush like that, but Duke and Sasha didn't seem to mind.  
  
"Well, if you really want to go out, you can. This is, after all, an inn," Duke said, chuckling. Sasha nodded and handed me a folded piece of paper, which, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a map of the village.  
  
"My husband and daughter and I live at the Moon Mountain Vineyard," she said. "Please come for a visit sometime. They would love to meet you."  
  
I winced. I never wanted to see Gotz's face ever again, and I was pretty sure he didn't want to see mine, either. Nonetheless, I nodded in mock enthusiasm and promised to visit.  
  
"Enjoy the rest of your stay at Flowerbud Village," Duke said with a little wave of his hand.  
  
"Yes, of course," I replied as I stepped out the door. Duke and Sasha certainly were nice people. I didn't want to cause them any more trouble.  
  
***  
  
I decided to go for a walk. It had been a long day, what with funeral arrangements and angry townspeople. It was hard to believe that Grandpa's death had caused such chaos in Flowerbud Village, so much that even today's New Year's Festival, one of the few diversions in these parts, was canceled. I mean, he was only a farmer—not a very admirable job, if you ask me. But the villagers seemed to revere him, as if he were some sort of sacred deity. Even now, as I strolled down the cobblestone streets, many of the townspeople were gathered in front of houses and shops, talking in hushed whispers. As I passed them by, I could hear fragments of their conversations:  
  
"He's gone…I can't believe it."  
  
"Yeah…I didn't realize that he was so sick."  
  
"Damn that disease!"  
  
I laughed under my breath. How little they knew. Grandpa death was neither surprising nor sudden. He had been sick for a long time, ever since the day Mom died. Sure, his disease definitely played a part in his death, too, but what really killed him was his loneliness and solitude. I thought about telling some of the villagers this, but I held myself back. I wasn't sure if Grandpa would have liked the whole town to know this little tidbit of information. Besides, it made me feel better in a way, to keep this to myself. So I kept my mouth shut and continued walking towards the outskirts of the village, trying my absolute best to ignore the chatter of the villagers—I didn't need to hear any more gossip. What I did need, however, was someplace quiet to sort my thoughts out a little, someplace where I could lose myself without being disturbed.  
  
I broke into a light jog. I knew exactly where that place was, and the sooner I got there, the better.  
  
***  
  
After about fifteen more minutes of walking, I stopped to rest against a weathered wooden fencepost. The Moondrop Farm lay before me, a mess of boulders and weeds. Looking at it, it was hard to believe that it had once been a prosperous place, where Grandma, Grandpa and Mom spent happy days together. Peering closer at it in the late afternoon sunlight, I could just make out the faint outline of the withered Moondrop flowers, a sad reminder of all the hardships and losses Grandpa went through during his life on the farm. It was sad, actually—while Grandpa was here toiling away at his farm, I was living the good life in the city, where flipping burgers at the local fast food restaurant was considered hard work.  
  
I dug my nails into the soft wood of the fence, carving out all sorts of little nonsense designs. Now that I was away from the hustle and bustle of the village, I finally had a chance to think about something that had been bothering me since yesterday…something I had chosen to push to the very back of my mind until now. Pulling my jacket tighter around me, for it was still chilly even if it was the first day of Spring, I closed my eyes and thought back to the last few moments before Grandpa just…faded away.  
  
He had said something before he died. I hadn't really heard it, but he did say something, and it wasn't just the pitiful ramblings of a dying man, either. What was it, though? I thought as hard I could, but nothing came to mind. Thus, I was left to speculate. Perhaps he had tried to say "I love you," or "Take care of the family," or something practical like that. Maybe he was murmuring something about joining Grandma and Mom in Heaven. Or…maybe…maybe he was trying to tell me something important, like…something about his will? I turned this thought over in my mind. What if he was telling me something was wrong with his inheritance? That he had left someone something that they didn't deserve? What if he was telling me to settle some long-forgotten conflict with a certain villager? What if, what if—My mind was swirling with all sorts of crazy ideas, half of which were very unlikely. Then…  
  
Ca-chuk, ca-chuck  
  
…The gravelly sound of footsteps caught my attention. Looking up, I saw Dad coming up the road leading from the village, his arms laden with baggage. As soon as he saw me standing there, he scowled disapprovingly and threw a large suitcase at my feet. I shot him a puzzled look, not sure what was meant by this. Before I could ask, however, Dad was already bawling at me for wasting his time.  
  
"Well, what the hell are you waiting for!" he barked, drawing a piece of paper from one pocket. "All your stuff's packed inside! Take your damn luggage and let's go! Our ferry's waiting at the pier. Hurry up, or we'll miss it!" He brandished the paper in front of my face, where I could clearly see the big, bold label: TICKET FOR ONE: ROSEBUD LINES, 5:00 FERRY.  
  
"W-what?" I stammered. "We're leaving? Now? But the funeral—"  
  
"I don't care. I just want to leave this goddamn village once and for all!" Dad swung a black duffel bag over his shoulder. "I have all of the old man's stuff in this bag here. Some porcelain, jewelry…that sort of thing. Most of it was your grandmother's actually. And these insurance papers are bound to get us some cash." He waved a pile of papers in the air, a devilish grin on his face.  
  
"Well, what're you waiting for? Let's go!" he cried. He started down the path that led to the beach, but I stood rooted to the spot. Dad wanted to leave right now, without even going to Grandpa's funeral or memorial service. "What a selfish fool," I thought. He was a greedy, hateful bastard who had no respect for the dead or for anyone for that matter.  
  
And yet…I was following this vile man?  
  
The notion struck me like a bolt of lightning; so suddenly and clear that it was almost funny that I hadn't ever thought of it before. Here I was, Ryan Hayes, age 18—a grown man—who was still following every order from someone he had detested for nearly five years. I always followed my father's word like some sort of machine, almost never stopping to think about my own options. What kind of life was that? Why couldn't I make my own decisions? I was old and capable enough, that's for sure. I didn't need to take orders from some jackass. And, as I soon realized, I didn't have to. Being an adult, I could do whatever I felt was right for me, whether that was disobeying my father…or, believe it or not, staying in Flowerbud Village. Sure, it seemed crazy—a city boy making a living in the countryside, but it was strange…the little town had grown on me somehow, to the point where I thought I wanted to stay there just a little bit longer—or, as things turned out, for the rest of my life. It was better than going back to the city with my father at least.  
  
"Ryan!" Dad's nagging voice snapped me out of my thoughts. "What's taking so long? Hurry up!" He was now standing at the end of the road, beckoning me to follow. But instead of going to him, like I usually would, I stood rooted to the spot and called: "Don't bother calling me, Dad! I'm not going with you!" In the distance, I could see him falter. He dropped his luggage on the ground and ran right back down the path.  
  
"What?" he cried, as soon as he caught up with me. "Of course you're going! This isn't your home, you idiot!" He grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a little shake. "You hear me? This isn't your home!"  
  
"So what? I'm not going." I thought I might as well say it again. "I…don't want to go. I like it here. I want to stay for a little while before going back to the city, you know? Actually," I said excitedly, as a new, even crazier idea popped into my head, "I'm thinking about living here, you know? I mean, I could find a home and—"  
  
"WHAT?" Dad shook me so hard that my teeth started to rattle. I never did figure out why he was so against my idea. Heck, there were many things about him that I never really figured out, as a matter of fact. "What did you say? You're going to LIVE here? That's ludicrous, dammit! You don't have anywhere to stay! What, you're going to live in that inn forever? Why don't you think ahead for once?" He grabbed me tightly by the arm and started dragging me down the road. "You're going back with me to the city, Ryan! Hell, why are you so fond about this damn town anyway? If there's any place you want to live, it's the city—"  
  
"But I don't want to go back to the city, dammit!" I burst out, freeing myself from his grip. Dad turned to look at me, shocked. As far as he knew, my talking back to him was practically unheard of.  
  
"What?" he said, for the millionth time that day.  
  
"I don't want to go back to the city," I reiterated, quieter this time. "Like I said, I've been thinking about this for awhile, and I just want to let you know that I'm not a little kid anymore. I turned eighteen last Fall, you know, and that is the legal age in these parts, right? So…" I took a deep breath, readying myself for the wrath I knew I would have to face when I told him my crazy plan. Dad stood stock-still, with a look on his face that clearly said, "Stop stalling and get to the point already!" A wry smile curved at my lips. He may seem cool and collected now, but he was soon going to throw some fit!  
  
"I'm still not quite sure why you're so hateful towards Grandpa and everything about him," I continued, running a hand through my dark brown hair, like I usually do when I'm nervous. "Maybe you still haven't gotten over Mom—that's what Grandpa said before he…you know. Anyway, I really want to make Grandpa proud of me, even if he is gone. I don't know about you, but I feel sort of guilty for not spending that much time with him. Um…" I took another deep breath. It was now or never. "What I'm about to say may seem a little extreme, but I've been thinking about it for a while." (About five minutes ago, in fact, but of course I didn't tell him that!) "I'm thinking…I'm thinking of…uh…" I paused, trying to think of some way to say it in a more elaborate fashion, but then decided it would be better just saying it plain and simple.  
  
"I-I'm thinking of taking over the Moondrop Farm." I lowered my head and waited for the lecture to begin. It came, all right, in a small livid speech, every word dripping with an immeasurable amount of cold fury:  
  
"Like mother, like son. Always following in Tony's footsteps. Even in death, he is revered like a god." Dad spat bitterly on the ground before letting out a string of curses so violent that even I was surprised at their intensity.  
  
"Fine!" he cried, his body trembling with rage. "You want to take over the goddamn family farm! Then take over it! But remember!" He waved one threatening finger at me. "When you find nothing but failure and ruin for you here, don't you dare come running to me for help of ANY kind! You have the independence you wanted, you little brat! From now on, you are no longer my responsibility!" He turned on his heel and stomped back down the road, muttering furiously at my nerve. I guess I should have felt a little remorse then. After all, my father pretty much just disowned me. But I could think of nothing at the moment except that I had won the battle; the farm was mine. I was now unlimited in doing whatever I wanted to in life, for I was finally free from my father's oppression.  
  
"YOU WERE NEVER MY FATHER ANYWAY!" I screeched at the retreating figure before turning around to face the Moondrop Farm—no, my farm.  
  
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AN~ So, how was it? I'm sorry if it seemed way too dramatic and repetitive at the end…need…to…get…away…from…English…::Cough:: C'mon, feedback, feedback! I don't care if it's criticism, just as long as it's constructive and not a flame! Erm…sorry again! ^_^V (Hehe…I had way to much sugar for lunch today!) I know there haven't been any of the eligible girls in the story yet. You'll just have to wait until the next chapter to see them! (Most of the villagers will be making an appearance.) Stay tuned for Moondrop Saga Chapter 03: The First Seeds.  
  
BTW, since it's Saturday night and I'm bored, I'll just fix a little treat for you guys (and girls).  
  
LEARN JAPANESE!  
  
Moshi Moshi: Hello (on the phone)  
  
Ja ne: Goodbye  
  
Owari: The end  
  
Arigatou: Thank you  
  
Gomen ne: Sorry  
  
I hope you learned something today…note that I'm not too good at the language myself, hehe. So…Ja ne! n_n  
  
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	4. Chapter Three: Grandpa's Wake

The Moondrop Saga  
  
Chapter Three: Grandpa's Wake  
  
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Hey, I'm back again with another chapter, although this one is a little shorter. Hopefully you'll enjoy it, since I worked on this instead of finishing my art homework. ^_~ Unlike what I said last time, this chapter is not called "The First Seeds"—that's the next chapter. (I sorta changed my mind about the sequence of events.) And only a handful of characters make an appearance. Sorry about that.  
  
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After Dad left for the ferry, I went for a survey of the farm, ecstatic and happy at the fact that all of it was mine; the fields, the barn, the henhouse and the cabin all belonged to me, as did the withered Moondrop flowers, the broken fence that surrounded the empty pasture, and the rocks and weeds that littered the field. The farm was a mess, that was for sure, and would need a lot of cleaning up before most people would even consider it profitable, but I was up to the challenge. If Grandpa could handle the farm, then I sure as hell could, especially now that I didn't have my father as an obstacle. With these thoughts, I retrieved my luggage from the road where I had left it and made my way inside the old cabin.  
  
The first thing I saw when I stepped inside was the pieces of the bowl I had shattered the day before. They lay scattered on the wooden floor, the rays of the late afternoon sun glinting off the shards. Sighing, for I had totally forgotten to clean them up, I swept the debris against the wall with one foot before proceeding to examine the rest of my new home.  
  
It was a very plain, dirty old room, with the only modern furnishing being a very old model of a television set lying next to the nightstand. Everything else was obsolete; the floor and walls were covered with a thin film of dust, and the bed appeared to be on the verge of falling apart. The nightstand in-between the table and bed, and the low table standing at the center of room looked as if they were half-eaten by termites, which was probably the case, I thought, as I examined a worn out portion of the table leg. There appeared to be no sign of any other rooms, not even a kitchen or bathroom.  
  
"Oh great," I muttered, thinking about how I was going to shower or relieve myself when I needed to. Not to mention, how was I going to eat? Sighing, I flopped casually onto the bed and drew out a half-eaten granola bar from my pocket. It was the only piece of food I had with me, but since I was hungry and didn't feel like going back to the village for rations, I decided I was better off eating it now rather than starving to death. Throwing the wrapper aside (there didn't seem to be a garbage can nearby), I settled in comfortably in the deep folds of the mattress and bit into the dull flavor of oatmeal and raisins.  
  
After swallowing the last of the granola (It only took three bites to finish), I lay back comfortably on the soft pillow and pulled my cap down over my eyes. As much as the idea of reviving the farm excited me, I was dead tired from the events of the day and desperately needed rest. "So, why not turn in for the night?" I thought, closing my eyes. It didn't take long for me to drift to sleep; I never was much of an insomniac, and today was no exception. Within seconds, I was in a deep slumber.  
  
…Only later did I realize I was lying on what was once a deathbed.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, the entire village was gathered at the church for Grandpa's funeral. It was a dismal ceremony, with many of the townspeople going up to the altar to read eulogies that brought tears to everyone's eyes. Even the pastor, who was reputed never to have shed a tear at any of the rites he held, was caught sobbing during the ceremony. Most people were.  
  
I arrived at the church just as the funeral began. The place was packed—there was hardly enough room to do even the simplest of actions, or even to move at all. I had a hell of a tough time edging my way through the crowd to stand next to the only familiar face: Duke, who seemed a bit disgruntled at the fact that all the pews were filled, and that he had to stand near the back of the church being jostled and shoved by everyone around him.  
  
"Was Grandpa really this popular?" I whispered as I came to stand beside him. Duke nodded and put a finger to his lips. "Be quiet and listen to Pastor Brown!" he hissed, motioning to the altar, where the chubby pastor was speaking to the congregation. I sighed and leaned nonchalantly against the whitewashed walls. Silence was imperative to the solemn atmosphere of church, although the people in front of me, who were squabbling over seats, seemed not to notice. I shook my head at them in disgust. They showed absolutely no respect towards the church or Grandpa. Duke seemed to think so too, as he eyed the bickering bunch with a look that clearly suggested that they'd better shut up, lest they face his wrath.  
  
The ceremony dragged on. One by one, the villagers went up to the altar to say a few kind words, and one by one they returned to their seats, eyes brimming with tears. A VERY fat man clad in a purple suit talked about Grandpa's remarkable talent for cooking, while the mayor's wife, Anna, rambled on about his excellent participation in the town's special events. Out of all the people who spoke, however, the one who made the greatest impression in my mind was a young girl with chin-length brown hair, who called Grandpa a man "whose greatness was only surpassed by his kindness" before breaking down in tears, whereupon the mayor (Duke had pointed him out to me) came and escorted her away. Of course, I noticed that she was definitely cute, and watched her as she returned to her seat until Duke noticed my gaze and slapped me hard on the back of the head.  
  
"OW! What was that for?" I cried, so loudly that the entire congregation turned to stare, annoyance etched on all of their faces, including the brown-haired girl I had been watching just a few seconds before. Pastor Brown looked up from reading his eulogy and said:  
  
"Please, sir, will you not disturb us?" His voice was as sharp as a double- edged blade. I rubbed the back of my head in a sheepish fashion and nodded.  
  
"Yes, of course...I apologize," I said, shooting a nasty glare at Duke, who immediately stepped aside as if he had had no part in this.  
  
"Very well then." The pastor continued to speak, and everyone's attention soon returned to him. I gave Duke a small shove, nearly knocking him into two school-age boys, who back away from us like the plague.  
  
"What was that for?" I hissed, my fists clenched. "What, are you trying to get me in trouble?" Duke chuckled.  
  
"A fine way to pay your respects to your grandfather, gawking at girls," he replied, shaking his head disapprovingly. Then, as if he knew what I had in mind to ask, added: "That was Elli, the daughter at the bakery. I know you think she's cute, but try to pay attention to the ceremony and not her! You hear me?"  
  
"I hear you," I muttered, although making a mental note of visiting the village bakery sometime soon. I guess I had been paying a little too much attention to the women, but that wasn't very unusual for me. I may not look like it, but I was quite the ladies' man in the city, having once dated three girls in two weeks. "You still didn't have to put me through all that, though."  
  
"Put you through what?" Duke sneered, "I didn't put you through anything. Besides, none of the villagers will remember you and the hubbub you just caused when you leave with your father for the city this afternoon and...say, where is your father, anyway?" He gave me a curious glance.  
  
At first, I didn't know what he was talking about. Leaving? Me? Of course not. I was going to stay and take over the farm, didn't he know? I opened my mouth to tell him so, but shut it again when I realized the answer to that was…no, he didn't. No one in the village knew. In all of yesterday's excitement, I had never thought about telling the townspeople about my plans to take over the Moondrop Farm.  
  
"M-My father?" I stammered. "He…um…he left for the city yesterday" Duke raised an eyebrow.  
  
"He's left? Without paying his last respects to Tony and without you?" he said, his voice full of surprise and disbelief. I nodded.  
  
"Yeah…he had some emergency with his…uh…business back home and decided to leave a little early." Dad was a corporate executive for some notions company in the city.  
  
"Well, he could've stuck around until after the funeral," Duke murmured. I nodded again in agreement and decided to leave it at that. There was no point in breaking the news to him now. Knowing Duke, he would probably just cause another commotion that would not only take away from Grandpa's memory but also give the villagers a really bad first impression of me. And, I thought, sulking against the wall, thanks to Duke, they already didn't take too kindly to me.  
  
***  
  
The funeral ended at the south side of the village, where the graveyard was. As the coffin was slowly lowered into its grave, the procession was serenaded by a sweet hymn sung by a pretty pink-haired girl. She did have a nice voice, like the pleasant tune of the nightingale, and as the last notes of the melody faded away, even I was compelled to wipe away the tears that had slowly but surely crept down my face during the song. Grandpa had been so dear…so important to me, even though I hardly ever saw him during the course of my life. The hymn reminded me of all the good summers I spent on the farm; of all the times Grandpa had tucked me into bed before telling me a long and wondrous story about farm life...of how much he'll be missed by everyone in the village.  
  
"Hey," Duke said, " There's no more to see, Ryan. Let's go home, now, shall we?" He prodded me in the arm, but I didn't budge. Many of the townspeople were already leaving, but the funeral wasn't quite done. Several anonymous men were now shoveling dirt onto the grave, and I wanted to remain exactly where I was until every single procedure was finished. The mayor would be staying behind as well to oversee the last duties of the men, and I had a few matters to settle with him.  
  
"You go ahead," I murmured. "I'll be staying behind a little bit longer." Duke nodded and headed back towards the inn, looking over his shoulder as he went, as if to see if I was still there. I knew he was only worried about me, but right then I just wanted to be alone.  
  
When the burial was done, the men picked up their tools and drove away in their little truck back to wherever they came from. The mayor also prepared to leave it seemed, fixing his top hat to sit at a jaunty position on his head and straightening his bow tie. (Apparently he put much emphasis on his appearance, for he was doing the same thing throughout the whole funeral, I noticed.) I caught up to him just as he was walking away from the graveyard.  
  
"Um, excuse me? Mr. Mayor?" I asked hesitantly, not sure about the proper way to address someone of his authority. The mayor turned to face me, and it was then that I noticed his strangely shaped nose, which was quite big and red like a clown's. I have to admit, it was very difficult to keep from staring.  
  
"Yes?" he asked, brushing front of his burgundy suit. He was a short, stocky man, who stood about half a foot shorter than I did, so that I had to keep looking down to speak to him.  
  
"I...um, sorry to bother you, but I have something to discuss with you. It involves the Moondrop Farm," I said stiffly. The mayor nodded, although he was busy rummaging through his coat pocket.  
  
"Please continue," he said, finally pulling out a gold pocket watch engraved with diamonds. As I watched, he began wiping the face of the watch, occasionally lifting it over his head to look at it in the dim sunlight that managed to penetrate the dull cloud cover hanging over the village. "Are you one of the construction workers that were supposed to come talk to me yesterday?"  
  
My jaw dropped. "Construction workers?" I cried. I liked this so-called mayor less and less every second. How can a person be so...so...thickheaded? "I came to you about my grandfather's farm, not some construction project!"  
  
"Oh? So you're not one of the construction workers...then what business do you have with me? And you are you, anyway?" The mayor finally finished looking at his watch and dropped it back in his pocket. He seemed a bit irked at being held up, as there was a hint of annoyance in his voice.  
  
"I-I'm Ryan Hayes. Tony's grandson," I stammered, yearning to get this conversation over with. "I came to talk to you about—"  
  
"Ah, yes...Ryan," the mayor interrupted, "Sasha told me about you. I guess now that the funeral is over, you and your father will be heading back to the city now, eh? Well, have a safe trip, young Ryan and I'm so sorry for your loss." He turned on his heel and started walking away, not looking sorry for me at all. (I think my "interruption" at the church might have tarnished his opinion of me. Actually, I'm not sure if he had ever thought highly of me in the first place. Or whether he thought of me at all.)  
  
"Er...Hey, wait!" I cried. But he didn't stop, apparently not giving a damn about what I had to say. It was only until I stepped in front of him to block his way that he relented and, once again, asked what business I had with him.  
  
"I'm a very busy man, you know," he added, annoyance dripping from every syllable. "Why don't you just go home and leave me be? I'm sure a city boy like you would be better off where you belong—in the city." (Either he had something against city dwellers or he was really distraught at being held up.)  
  
"But that's what I came to talk to you about!" I shrieked, frustration finally taking its toll, "I'm NOT going back to the city. My father and I talked this over yesterday and decided that I would take over the Moondrop Farm!" The mayor stared at me wide-eyed, seemingly shocked at my outburst.  
  
"My, my, what a temper," I heard him murmur, after which I took a deep breath and continued, calmer this time:  
  
"I want to take over the Moondrop Farm. I already have my father's permission. Now I need yours." And I decided to leave it that. Like Grandpa used to tell me, it was best to keep things "short and sweet, and not to repeat things thrice over."  
  
"Well, well..." The mayor put a finger to his chin. At once I sensed something was wrong, for he looked a bit uncomfortable. I suspected that it might have been my choice of words. I had been talking a little harshly in my aggravation...what if he took it the wrong way?  
  
"Is something wrong?" I asked, after a moment or two of silence. The mayor shook his head, but looked concerned nonetheless.  
  
"No, no...nothing is wrong," he said softly. "It's just that...you see, the villagers would have preferred to have kept the farm, but since no one in the town was willing to take over the farm..." He paused and looked down at his polished shoes. Whatever he was going to tell me, it definitely wasn't something I was going to like, for he was doing everything in his power to keep his eyes from meeting mine.  
  
"What is it?" I asked, bracing myself for his answer. The mayor mumbled something in a tone that was barely audible.  
  
"I'm glad I finally found someone willing to take over the task of reviving the farm...it was our main source of income before your grandfather became ill," he started, shuffling his feet. "But...I'm afraid it's too late...we held a village council late last night...you weren't there...no one claimed the farm...we decided to tear it down to make room for another shop. A supermarket, to be exact—"  
  
"WHAT?" I screeched, so loudly that the mayor had to cover his ears. I couldn't believe what I was hearing—the farm being torn down to make room for some dumb supermarket? Without the family's permission? The words flew out before I had a chance to hold them back:  
  
"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME? YOU'RE THE MAYOR OF THIS TOWN! WHEN SOMEONE DIES, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO ASK HIS KIN ABOUT WHAT TO DO WITH THE PROPERTY!" I screamed, trembling in my rage. The mayor winced and slowly edged away from me.  
  
"I'm dreadfully sorry," he said tremulously, "but I don't know what to do about the situation. The contract has already been signed and construction begins in a year—that's why I asked if you were one of the construction workers when you first approached me about your grandfather's farm." He shook his head sorrowfully, and it was then that I almost started to feel guilty about yelling at him before. He really did seemed sorry, after all.  
  
"Well, that's just great," I muttered. My hopes of living in the country had just been dashed.  
  
"There is one bit of hope, however," the mayor piped in. I was intrigued to listen, despite the fact that I'd already had enough letdowns for one day—and this "one bit of hope," as the mayor put it, was most likely going to be another one.  
  
"Go on," I sighed. The mayor nodded and continued:  
  
"Like I said, the villagers would prefer it if the farm stayed," he rambled on. "Perhaps I could figure out some sort of compromise with the construction company...it's not likely, but I will try." He gave me a pitiful glance before muttering a short goodbye and shuffling away to wherever he was going, leaving me alone at the edge of the dismal graveyard. I didn't go after him this time, however. I could only stare after him, utterly convinced that I had the worst luck of any man on earth.  
  
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OK, just to let you guys know, I've never been to a funeral, so I wasn't really sure of the procedures. Sorry if anything was inaccurate. The last part might have seemed corny, and I think the mayor was a bit out of character. I will try to work on that in my later chapters. I took a bit of the storyline from STH, but that's only so that our poor Ryan will have some sort of goal besides his wanting to prove himself to his father, etc. The story will still be mainly N64, though, so don't worry!  
  
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